


The Most Vicious Creatures on the Planet

by iceprinceofbelair



Series: The Adventures of Harry Potter and Newt Scamander [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Child Abuse, Gen, Minor Character Death, Neglect, Obscurial Harry Potter, Protective Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 15:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14813609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: Following the deaths of the Dursleys - who prove that humans truly are the most vicious creatures on the planet - Harry gets a visit from a fascinating stranger.





	The Most Vicious Creatures on the Planet

Harry Potter is eight years old when things finally get out of control. 

The Dursleys lie dead in the kitchen of Number 4 Privet Drive, dark marks crawling across their faces like vines. All of the windows in the house have shattered. The plastered walls are cracked from floor to ceiling.

And, in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry Potter is hyperventilating. 

He doesn’t know what will happen to him now. He doesn’t even really understand what has already happened because, no matter how many times he pulls at his hair or bites his hands, he can’t seem to wake up. His mind is both racing and silent at the same time and he feels very far away, like he might be sitting in a meadow somewhere and dangling his feet in a stream. His hands feel out of his control as they clutch desperately at the blanket he’s sitting on, trying and failing to feel something solid. He feels the fabric run between his fingers but, at the same time, he doesn’t.

Until suddenly he does.

He feels everything. The world caves in around him and his entire body trembles with pain and fear and adrenaline. He cries. He screams but it doesn’t ever reach his ears because there’s a loud buzzing which fills up all of the available space. He isn’t sure if he’s breathing. 

For the first time in many years, Harry calls out for his mother.

But she doesn’t come. Nobody comes because there’s nobody left. And it’s all his fault.

Harry doesn’t know how long he stays hidden in the cupboard but there are voices calling through the broken living room window. They’re calling for his aunt. Harry tries not to breathe.

The door clicks open tentatively and Harry hears heavy boots stepping on the shards of broken glass in the hallway. With all his strength, he prays that nobody will open the cupboard. 

The footsteps continue. Harry thinks there must be a whole crowd of people outside. Their echoing footsteps deafen him and he wants to cry again but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t think in case they can hear him. Aunt Petunia had once told him to stop thinking so loudly. 

There’s a gasp and a murmur and then Harry falls asleep quite without meaning to.

~

When Harry wakes again, the house is quiet but somehow he knows that he isn’t alone. He sits up quietly and moves carefully to the grate in the cupboard door. He holds his breath. Nothing is happening but everything is happening. Harry wishes desperately for Aunt Petunia to batter on his cupboard door, for Uncle Vernon to snatch the newspaper from him, for Dudley to jump up and down on the stairs until Harry’s hair is full of sawdust. 

But nothing happens. 

Until Harry hears a whisper, a word he’s never heard before. “Obliviate.”

He sees a pair of legs and the hem of a long coat and it takes everything he has not to stumble backwards. A hand places a battered suitcase down in front of the cupboard door and a voice says, “What’s going on?”

A second voice replies, “You’re needed at the station, sir.”

The first man stumbles a little over his words before managing to say, “Yes. Quite right.”

Harry scampers away from the grate as the man’s shadow passes over him and hopes the sound is masked by his crunching footsteps. To his relief, Mr Suitcase stays by the cupboard for only a moment before starting towards the kitchen. 

“Dougal, you’re in charge until I get back,” he says and Harry can’t make sense of that statement no matter how hard he tries. In the absence of a dog, Harry can only assume that the man is talking to his case. 

Just what Harry needs. A lunatic.

Harry can hear the man clattering around in the kitchen and, by the sounds of things, talking to himself. He isn’t speaking loud enough for Harry to hear what he’s saying but Uncle Vernon had once accused Harry of speaking “freaky mumbo jumbo” when he’d caught him reciting his list of chores to himself. Harry wonders if Mr Suitcase is doing something like that. 

Briefly, Harry wonders if Mr Suitcase might be a policeman but he doesn’t think so. None of the policemen he’s seen before have worn coats like that or carried around suitcases. All Harry is certain of is that the man is a stranger and that he feels quite sick. For a moment, he thinks Aunt Petunia will have his hide for letting strangers into the house but then he remembers all at once and he feels like he’s floating in space. 

Harry isn’t sure how long he spends feeling like he’s just stumbled off of an out-of-control merry-go-round but he’s drawn quite sharply out of his haze by something scraping at the base of the cupboard door. More curious than frightened, Harry peers at the shadow which is dancing along the string of light coming in from the hallway. Harry wonders if the stranger actually  _ did  _ bring a dog with him. 

He watches with rapt fascination as a snout appears under the doorway, quickly followed by a furry black creature with dark eyes which look at him curiously. Quite stunned, Harry tilts his head to the left and almost laughs when the creature copies him. They observe each other for a moment before the creature scampers away among the mops and Harry finds himself breathing heavily from the fright. 

The creature is loud and rambunctious and Harry barely manages to catch a mop before it falls and whacks him on the head. For a moment, he’s so caught up in the little creature’s scrambling that he completely forgets about the stranger in his house. 

But the moment quickly comes to an end when he hears thundering footsteps in the hallway and barely has time to throw himself against the wall before Mr Suitcase says, “What have I told you about staying put?”

He tugs on the cupboard door and Harry feels his heart sink into his stomach. The door rattles once more and Harry silently begs it not to open. 

“Alohamora,” the voice says and Harry feels his own imaginary grip on the door ripped from him as it finally swings open. He covers his face in terror.

The following silence stretches on until the man reaches into the cupboard and picks the little creature up by the back of its neck. Harry watches through his fingers as the man nimbly opens his suitcase and puts the creature inside, closing it with a decisive  _ thunk _ before turning back to Harry. 

The man before him is quite young. He looks younger than Aunt Petunia, anyway. His eyes keep flicking up to Harry’s face before quickly darting away again. His face is covered in light freckles and he’s dressed very strangely to Harry’s eyes. Though his whole attire is very formal and odd, Harry is most taken by his long blue coat with the collar turned up around the man’s neck. 

Apparently quite as taken aback as Harry, the man simply says, “Hello.”

Harry blinks and wishes the man would get out of his cupboard so he can get out too. He wants to get out of here. He wants - he can’t quite believe it, but he wants Aunt Petunia.

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Mr Suitcase swallows, twirling a pale stick elegantly between his fingers. Harry watches the movement cautiously, pressing himself as far into the wall as he’s able. 

“My name’s Newt,” the man continues. “What’s yours?”

Harry shakes his head. He isn’t allowed to speak to strangers. Mr Suitcase - Newt - worries his bottom lip, eyes still darting all over Harry’s body as though trying to take him in completely. 

Seemingly unfazed by Harry’s reluctance, Newt asks, “Do you live here?”

Uncertain whether Newt means the house or the cupboard, Harry cautiously nods his head. He isn’t supposed to tell anyone about the cupboard. It’s supposed to be a secret.

Despite himself, Harry can't keep his gaze away from the suitcase for very long. Following his gaze, Newt gives an apologetic shrug, mouth twisting into an amused smile. "Sorry about him. He doesn't know how to keep his paws to himself."

Harry swallows nervously. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse and his throat feels cracked and dry. "What is it?"

Newt's face brightens briefly and he says, "A niffler. They're little burrowing creatures and they love anything shiny. He didn't take anything from you, did he?"

Harry shakes his head forlornly. There isn't anything shiny in the cupboard anyway. Nothing a niffler would want, Harry thinks. 

Silence falls upon them again and Harry tries to stop staring at the case. One of the latches pops open and Newt shuts it again without even looking. He's so busy trying to keep himself focused on something else that Newt's next question comes right out of left field.

“Are- were they your family?”

Harry finds tears in his eyes unexpectedly and drags the back of his wrist unceremoniously across his cheeks. Try as he might, he can’t prevent a small sob from escaping and all of a sudden it’s like he’s opened the floodgates. He curls into himself, hiccoughing and shivering. Newt backs out of the cupboard then but he doesn’t stand up. He sits with his back against the opposite wall, examining the stick in his hands carefully. 

Though he isn’t sure how to express it, Harry is grateful for the privacy but also that the man isn’t leaving him alone. He feels fragile right now. Everything hurts. He doesn’t understand what’s happening and he’s tired and hungry and everything hurts. 

Harry opens his eyes a moment later when something brushes against his cheek. It’s with no small degree of shock that he realises it’s a handkerchief. A floating handkerchief. And it’s drying his tears. In his shock, Harry tried to shuffle away from it and makes it to the doorway of the cupboard before he finally snatches it from the air in a blind panic. It feels like a perfectly ordinary handkerchief. When Harry turns to ask Newt about it, he doesn’t even seem to be paying attention.

Newt doesn’t stare at him and Harry is grateful for that. Mustering his courage, he defies the rules and whispers, “Harry.”

Though he doesn’t look up, a half smile creeps across Newt’s freckled face. He keeps his eyes on the floor and says, “Nice to meet you, Harry.”

His voice is gentle and Harry finds his entire demeanour bizarrely comforting. He can’t quite explain it, but something about Newt feels certain. He feels, Harry thinks, like a character in a fairy story. He dresses a little silly and he has a slightly odd face and he feels mysterious in a way that Harry finds himself enjoying. 

Harry thinks back to the Dursleys and casts a glance towards the kitchen, wondering if they’re still in there. He shudders at the thought, though he isn’t sure if the fear comes from them being there and dead or suddenly emerging in a fit of rage.

Newt catches him looking and sighs. 

“Did you see the black smoke?” He asks, voice impossibly quiet. 

Harry swallows his panic and nods before quickly shaking his head. He nods again. He isn’t sure. His heart hurts. He wants to shuffle back into the cupboard but he doesn’t. 

“It’s okay,” Newt says with a sigh. “I’m sure it was very scary.”

_ You have no idea,  _ Harry thinks. But out loud, he croaks, “Smoke.”

Newt’s head snaps up to fast that Harry almost startles but, this time, it’s Harry who can’t hold Newt’s gaze. He fixes his eyes on the man’s shoulder instead. 

“Yes, smoke,” Newt breathes. “You did see it?”

Harry is caught between wanting to burrow back into his cupboard and throw himself into Newt’s arms. He does neither of these things. All he can do is thud one hand against his chest and repeat, “Smoke.”

And, just like that, Newt’s face changes. His body slumps. 

“Oh, Harry,” he whispers, shuffling just slightly forward. When Harry doesn’t immediately move away from him, he moves a little closer still. “It’s going to be alright now. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Promise is a very big word and Harry isn’t sure he trusts it. People promise a lot of things they never deliver on and, while Harry does like Newt, he isn’t anywhere close to trusting him. 

“Harry,” Newt says urgently, glancing towards the front door nervously. “I need you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that?” At Harry’s nod, Newt continues. “What happened isn’t your fault. It’s something beyond your control and it’s happening because some terrible things have happened to you. You’ve been hurt for your magic, am I right?”

Harry nearly chokes. “That’s a bad word,” he whispers, horrified. He finds himself looking instinctively around for Uncle Vernon before he remembers and his anxiety leaks out of him like letting the air out of a tyre. 

Newt nods like he understands. “Did your parents tell you that?”

“No,” Harry says and he’s about to explain that he doesn’t have parents but Newt interrupts him.

“It’s alright if they did, Harry,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

Harry bristles. “I don’t have any parents,” he says hotly. “They’re dead.”

Newt bows his head. “Yes,” he says, almost to himself. “The smoke.”

“They died a long time ago,” Harry explains. “In a car crash.”

He can’t help but feel like he and Newt are speaking slightly different languages. Adults are always so difficult to talk to. They never seem to understand things properly.

Cautiously, Newt asks, “Who are the people in the kitchen?”

“Aunt Petunia,” he manages before his voice gives way to more tears. 

“You live with your aunt and uncle,” Newt says softly in realisation. It isn’t a question so Harry doesn’t provide an answer. “They did this to you. Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

Harry sniffles, wishing he knew what he’d done with the handkerchief from earlier. 

“I can help you, Harry,” Newt says and Harry sees for the first time that his eyes are blue. “I can take you somewhere safe and we can try to help you control the ob- the smoke. Does that sound good?”

Harry glances back down at the floorboards. He feels so overwhelmed. What if the smoke comes back and hurts Newt? What will happen when people find out about what he did to the Dursleys? What if he’s bad?

He can barely breathe but he needs to ask.

“Am I-” Harry begins, biting his lip nervously. “Am I dangerous?”

Newt looks aghast at these words and Harry almost shrinks away when Newt moves closer, resting a hand on his knee. “No. You’re not dangerous,” he says. And then he smiles gently. “You’re fantastic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Why is Newt so young? Who knows but I figure that if Dumbledore can be a bazillion years old and look 70 then Newt can age more slowly too. I also have trouble imagining characters aging beyond their canon age so yeah.


End file.
